“Life is glorious, but life is also wretched. It is both. Appreciating the gloriousness inspires us, encourages us, cheers us up, gives us a bigger perspective, energizes us. We feel connected. But if that’s all that’s happening, we get arrogant and start to look down on others, and there is a sense of making ourselves a big deal and being really serious about it, wanting it to be like that forever. The gloriousness becomes tinged by craving and addiction. On the other hand, wretchedness–life’s painful aspect–softens us up considerably. Knowing pain is a very important ingredient of being there for another person. When you are feeling a lot of grief, you can look right into somebody’s eyes because you feel you haven’t got anything to lose–you’re just there. The wretchedness humbles us and softens us, but if we were only wretched, we would all just go down the tubes. We’d be so depressed, discouraged, and hopeless that we wouldn’t have enough energy to eat an apple. Gloriousness and wretchedness need each other. One inspires us, the other softens us. They go together.”
It’s not just because I am settling into a town that is also the exile home of the Dalai Lama that this quote from Pema Chodron resonated with me this morning. This land that I find beneath my feet these days, this foreign soil that continues to feel foreign no matter how much it reminds me of other places that have felt like home, the sights that assault and delight my eyes, the suffering that meshes with the celebration.
My system is learning embodiment in an entirely new way.
It is learning what it feels like to shut down in the face of beauty because the memory of suffering is too close to the surface. It is learning that all the time that I spend talking about universality doesn’t amount to anything if there isn’t some sort of embodiment to back it up.
I am moving in cycles with this traveling. I am moving towards myself and away from myself, towards others, away from others. Towards universality, away from universality—straight into the arms of ego.
But these cycles are teaching me something, something I didn’t even realize I needed to learn until it landed in my lap in a moment of intense agitation and discomfort this morning. You see, I am fantastic at the mental part of path-walking, process-working, evolution. Super fantastic, even. I can explain my way in and out of all kinds of mental states.
And yet, when it comes to embodiment, I am woefully unskilled.
Unpracticed may be a better way of putting it. In the throes of trauma some years ago, my mentor at the time said to me that the mind understands things well before the body. I got that then, I understood it in my head and even had moments of understanding it in my body. But it wasn’t until this afternoon, damn near 4 years after that conversation, that I began to understand the slow trickle of embodiment. Or rather, the potential slow trickle. I know some people for whom embodiment is the first place they go and intellectualizing comes later, if at all.
But for me, it’s slow and I am learning how much resistance I have put up to embodiment—how much it scares me in some way. It scares me because, if I’m feeling then I’m really feeling. And, if I’m really feeling then I must certainly be bringing whatever it is I’m feeling into the world around me—infecting the space around me. Dramatic, I know. But it inspires a lot of the resistance I have to being embodied.
And so India, in all its suffering and splendor has become my classroom. It is the place that is forcing me, sometimes gently and sometimes briskly, to embody these principles I have long talked about, and long intellectualized.
And the reason India is doing that so strongly is that the essence of embodiment is presence. Yes, there it is, that word again. I cannot embody something. I cannot allow something to permeate me, to be felt in my body and not just thought in my head, if I am not present. And in this time of travel, all I really can do is be present. This is a foreign place. I don’t have the distractions of home to pull me away. I am constantly taking in, observing, engaging, participating, absorbing, seeing, smelling, walking, feeling, hearing.
I am in a sensory soup, and I am present to all that my senses are engaging with.To a degree that is sometimes exhausting.
I should clarify here. In truth, I’m actually pretty good at embodying the good stuff. I’m pretty good at feeling whole and grounded in myself when experiencing joy and elation and bliss. That’s not all that hard for me. It’s learning to embody the darkness. To not contract against the pain or the sadness, but rather give it it’s due, to give it it’s space to be and exist and move on. When I am not in a space of embodiment, I contract against those challenging feelings—I don’t give them space to exist and I don’t give them space to move.
But in this journey through foreign lands, and with only my own mind and my partner for daily contact, I am beginning to learn that until I am able to be in a space of embodiment, I will simply wear down these grooves that my mind creates by thinking things, rather than allowing the space to feel things. And at some point, if I keep that up, I will get stuck in those grooves and it will be that much harder to get out and to do things differently. India has shown me my edge, my plateau, that place that I’ve come to in my daily life that I will not move on from until I begin a practice of doing things differently.
But, lord, what an intense place to learn about presence. How do I allow myself to be present when a child is splayed out on the ground with bloody bandages over its head and while its mother sits begging from the constant stream of passersby heading into the train station?
How do I allow myself to be present to the people whose livelihood centers around other people’s waste? How do I allow myself to be present to the charred remains of a man’s pelvis as it is taken from the ashes of his funeral pyre and thrown into the Ganges? Is it really possible to allow those experiences to be felt in my body knowing that they are just as real on this plane of existence as that fullness of heart I feel at the sound of a little girl giggling after an exchange, or the kindness of strangers on countless train rides?
Because that’s what I’m learning.
My movement, my openness, my embodiment of both the light and the dark is how to transcend all of it on this path of joy and compassion. And it isn’t easy. But travel is a constant practice of presence, and so here I am—engaging in this practice of learning to embody my experience, this experience of existence.
I am learning to allow myself to remain open just a split second longer than I would like to—to resist my own resistance for just a moment, to let a little space in for a little light or dark or both, to step into the embodiment piece of this existence with wholeness and compassion, and to allow for the joy that I know is beneath all of it.
Alicia Banister swims in the sea of bodyworkers in Boulder, CO. as an Integrative Therapist. She is not very good at sleeping late or cutting in a straight line. But, she is really good at regularly feeding her dog, being in the woods, cooking, laughing loudly and often, and making mistakes. She regularly marvels at the human body and the breadth of its inherent healing capacity, as well as the fantastic beings that inhabit those bodies. She makes it a practice to let life humble her as often as possible. And to remember to have a sense of humor about it all. You can find her ramblings at reflectionsmassage.wordpress.com and www.reflectionsintegrativetherapy.com
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